O'Brien Goodbye, Miss February

1. Auflage 2019
ISBN: 978-1-5439-8915-1
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 248 Seiten

Goodbye, Miss February is the humorous coming-of-age story of 60-year-old Jane Emerling. Jane seems content to lead a sheltered life but deep down wants to be the strong one, the person others go to for help. Her life changes when her sister Andy becomes ill and asks Jane for help. Jane flies to little Cherry Glen, Iowa, in the winter. There she makes friends and assists in solving community problems. Although she acts ditzy when stressed, she finds strength no one, including Jane herself, knew she had.

Autoren/Hrsg.

O'Brien, Sally

Leseproben

One “What was that? Oh my god, we’re going to crash! I’ll never see Thelma again!” I grabbed the arm of the young girl sitting next to me. “Tell Andy I tried to get there.” The plane shuddered again. I screamed, clinging desperately to my new friend, “Miss! Miss!” I waved my free arm at the flight attendant. “Just a little turbulence,” my seatmate said. “Nothing to worry about.” She began prying my fingers off her arm. I’d have to look up turbulence but had a good idea it meant shaking plane. “Are you sure?” I stretched across her to see out the window. If fluffy white clouds caused turbulence, we were in big trouble. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Trying to look out the window. Can you see if the wing’s still there?” “It is. A little turbulence is perfectly normal.” “Maybe we should tell someone. Miss! Miss!” “Try pushing the call button.” I jabbed the indicated switch repeatedly, and eventually, at least several minutes later, the flight attendant appeared, the willowy one who’d found a spot for my bag when I was boarding. I’d been told to store my carry-on in the overhead compartment but the one assigned to my seat was already full, and where was I supposed to put my things if people stole my space? With a stiff smile the woman said she remembered me, turbulence was nothing to worry about, and, yes, she was sure. “Okay, but I’d better tell the pilot.” I was reaching for my seat belt when I realized I was being silly. “No, wait, I can’t do that. Passengers aren’t allowed to chat with the pilot, are they?” I was glad I didn’t have to unclasp my seatbelt after the trouble I’d had fastening it in the first place. I hadn’t been able to find it until the girl beside me, who weighed less than I had when I was born, said I was sitting on it. Once I used gymnastic moves I hadn’t attempted in years to retrieve it, she helped me buckle it. “No, no, I’ll tell him. You just relax and enjoy the flight.” With a pat on my shoulder the attendant left to share my concerns with the pilot. The girl Velcroed to my side pried my last finger loose and, shaking her arm to restore circulation, returned to reading. She seemed distressed. If the plane crash prevented me from taking care of Andy, I could at least help this frightened young woman by entertaining her with a few stories. “People at the airport can be so helpful,” I said. “Like today, a nice lady in the waiting area spotted my pantyhose and without warning said, ‘If the plane catches on fire, the nylon will melt and your legs will be burned to a crisp. Right down to the bone.’ She appeared to expect me to strip the offending stockings off on the spot.” I waited for my seatmate to say something but she didn’t seem interested in my legs. I tried a different story. “Other people aren’t helpful, just interesting. I saw a young mother with suitcases and a baby hanging from her shoulder herding two preschoolers ahead of her. The little girl reminded me of the children I read stories to at the library, and I smiled at her. She darted behind her mother and pulled her little brother with her. Andy—that’s my sister—used to take care of me like that. Three years older, she’d guided me across busy streets and saved me from mean boys who threw snowballs.” I took a little break to remember Andy at her finest—and make sure the plane’s wings were still attached—before continuing. “Watching that mother choreograph and direct, I admired the things today’s women handle routinely. Crossing the prairie in high-topped shoes while fighting off wolves must have been stressful, but the idea of traveling alone on an airplane with Chris—that’s my daughter—when she was a baby would have been terrifying. My husband wouldn’t have let me do that anyway.” The lump in my throat stopped me from saying more. My new friend didn’t notice. Well, I’d done my best to calm her—and me, if I was going to be honest. After shredding a tissue into confetti, I leafed through an entire magazine before realizing I was holding it upside down. The other passengers attempted to distract me, especially the screaming child in the next row. I tried to convince myself that hurtling through space was absolutely normal, natural, and delightful. Certain that I’d hidden my nervousness well and my seatmate had no idea I was sixty and on my first plane ride, I felt like telling her about Andy so she could reassure me—preferably with a guarantee that Andy would be fine but I’d settle for reports of people who, defying all odds, were now illness free. However, the girl responded to all attempts at conversation with a low-wattage smile before returning to the book she held in front of her face. Telling myself to relax, I closed my eyes and thought back to this morning. “Miss February is the prettiest.” I’d said that to Thelma when we were looking at the calendar in the kitchen. Then I poured another cup of coffee, not that I needed caffeine to keep me awake after Andy’s call last night. But for Thelma’s sake I couldn’t show my concern. Forcing myself to smile, I flipped the calendar pages, pointing out the good and bad about each. Miss February’s cool green eyes followed me across the kitchen, making me want to smooth the fur between her ears and under her chin. Thelma rubbed against my ankle. I assured her she was pretty too and reached down to run my hand the length of her. I ended with a quick tug on the tail, and she pulled away. She doesn’t allow liberties with her tail. While Thelma focused her attention on a buzzing fly I leafed through the pages, ending with the current month. “But February, look at her. Don’t you think she’s elegant lying on that red velvet pillow?” No response from Thelma. She’d seen the luggage by the front door and knew I was trying to distract her. She did a little desperation dance, more weight shifting than disco, and I said, “Okay, Mommy’s going to be gone for a few days. Not long. You’ll hardly notice.” She stared without blinking and I told her to quit trying to make me feel guilty. “I’m sorry if your feelings are hurt but you know I have to go. Andy’s never needed me before. When Mom and Dad died, she TOLD me to come; this time she’s ASKING. I paced around the room, pausing to straighten the blue gingham curtains over the sink. JoAnn and I had hung them last week. The cats marching through the ones Chris made in her high school sewing class never quite met in the middle, and JoAnn said I didn’t need more cats in the kitchen, especially ones that couldn’t walk in a straight line. Out of habit I reached for a cookie. The jar was empty, of course. I’d finished the Oreos last night and wouldn’t see another one until I was back home. No junk food at Andy’s. One Christmas I bought her a T-shirt with the words Eat Healthy, Exercise, Die Anyway. She’s probably never worn it. Thelma looked intently at the cat food cupboard, and I assured her she wouldn’t starve, JoAnn would come every day to give her food and water. “And see . . .” I placed two cans of gourmet cat food on the counter. “You’ll still have your Sunday treat.” Thelma looked away in disgust. I added another can. I’d have to talk to JoAnn about Thelma’s food. This wasn’t the time to cut back on calories. An extra can of Fancy Feast couldn’t hurt. What would I do without JoAnn? Last night as soon as I promised Andy I’d be there right away, I realized I had no idea how to buy a plane ticket. My fingers automatically punched in JoAnn’s phone number, and, as usual, she was a lifesaver. Without asking why, she’d walked me through the online purchase. She’d been a godsend at the airport too. Check-in was confusing, to say the least. What happened to real people behind the counter? I had to do everything myself. Actually, JoAnn did. Thank goodness I had her with me. The instructions claimed the kiosk that had put honest people out of work was easy to use and asked me to insert my credit card. But I’d already paid for my ticket and I certainly didn’t want to be charged twice. JoAnn explained while the line behind us grew. The kiosk asked many questions and eventually was happy enough to kick out my boarding pass. The next battle was luggage. When JoAnn picked me up she asked why I’d bought black, said everyone on the plane would have black and I wouldn’t recognize mine at the baggage claim. But she was the one who told me to buy it. It was on sale, and she’d claimed it was a steal. She admitted that was true but never thought I’d take it anywhere. I had two bags to check and one was overweight. How could a few blouses weigh so much? I suppose it was the shoes but I couldn’t leave any of them home. What if I wanted to wear the blue suit but didn’t have the blue shoes? JoAnn solved the problem by shuffling things between the two bags. I guess the blue suit and shoes didn’t need to travel together. The man wanted my credit card again so he could charge for my luggage—thirty dollars per bag each way. I hadn’t realized the suitcases needed their own tickets, thought mine would cover all of us. When JoAnn asked if I preferred leaving my clothes behind, I handed over the card. Satisfied at last, the agent plastered...